


And If You're Homesick, Give Me Your Hand (and I'll hold it)

by babylouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort, Depression, Forced Prostitution, Hurt, M/M, Pain, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sex, Sex Slave, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust Issues, Violence, whorehouse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2211219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylouis/pseuds/babylouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't know where he belongs. Harry shows him, but it's not quite what either of them expected.</p><p>or</p><p>Louis has been a sex slave his entire life, but when a doe-eyed, fourteen year old boy with fluffy curls who's afraid of the dark and being alone comes along, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If You're Homesick, Give Me Your Hand (and I'll hold it)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kids this is my first chaptered fic. I've already planned out the entire thing so bare with me ok  
> I this gets enough kudos/comments from people who would like me to continue, I definitely will, and I will try to add a chapter every week/every second week, depending on how many people read it. Harry will be introduced in the seconds chapter, so don't worry abt that x

The walls are white, but they at the same time they are stained. They are stained with wasted innocence, the curtains are soiled in mistrust and silenced screams, while the floors are flooded with dirtied purity; But this is his home.

This is Louis’ home.

The bed is a tiny mattress in the corner; It’s hard and it’s stained with dirt and blood. Louis sometimes prefers to sleep on the floor after a particulary bad night. There is a window, at the end of the room with the curtains blocking the sun. He doesn’t remember much of what the outside looks like, but he’s grown so attached to this home. It’s painful and it’s terrifying, but it is familiar. Every crack and every stain reeks of familiarity and every bruise that scatters his skin keeps him grounded in a sense. 

He’s got a blanket that used to be a light blue, used to be fuzzy and warm and it used to be lovely. It resembles Louis in a way. Louis clutches it to his chest when he sleeps, because it’s his only anchor. When things are at their worst, he needs something to hold onto, something that will keep him from slipping off and floating away. 

When he hears a rustle and foot steps from outside the room, he immediately curls in on himself, scooting back into the corner the furthest away from the door. The blanket, which stinks nearly as much as Louis does, is clutched to his chest, in a weak attempt at self comfort. His fringe falls in front of his clouded blue eyes while the door opens and his toes curl. 

”You’re up,” A musky voice says, and Louis waits a moment before he hesitantly sets the bundled up blanket down onto the cold floor besides him, and he scrambles to his feet. His movements are slow and it’s understandable, even for the heartless grump standing in the doorway; Louis hasn’t eaten in at least two days, because he’s been up for sessions the past times that meals have been served. Meals usually consists of two slices of dried up bread and soup, maybe. It’s cheap and it doesn’t cause many bathroom needs.

When Louis is fully standing, his thin, stick arms immediately wrap around himself and he begins to slowly stumble forward, his gaze falls to the floor. He’s not scared of his owner; Not really. Unlike many of the other slaves Louis has met, his owner doesn’t beat him or choke him or hurt him. It’s the customers he’s terrified of. The second he is in somebody else’s possesion, he’s theirs for however long they have paid for, and Louis has no say in what goes on during that time.

Some nights when he’s back in his bed at the early hours of the morning and he’s bleeding after a rough night or an angry customer, he wishes he could float away for good. 

”You’ve got a hell of a night ahead of you, L. I want you to go get washed up and waxed and then I want you in the performance room in an hour. Don’t disappoint me,” He grumbles while he shoves Louis along, the steel door to Louis’ room slamming shut behind them with a loud bang. Louis stopped flinching at the noise a long time ago. 

As Louis walks down the dirty, hospital like hallway, his feet drag after him just slightly, his barefoot feel pattering along the icy cold concrete floors. The air is musky and heavy, considering the fact that they’re underground. Louis walks past the steel doors, with a small window in the middle leading into all of the different rooms with the different boys in them, and he tries to keep his gaze down, avoids eyecontact. They’re not allowed to communicate. He walks down till the end of the hallway and opens the door carefully, where there are three maids in the washing room.

The washing room is a room of comfort. His memory consists of warm water and gentle hands, and although the waxing in itself is quite painful, the maids are lovely and after years and years in this business, they’ve established a good relationship. Louis is one of the boys who have been here the longest, who’s held out the most amount of years, and even so, he’s still the most compliant boy to get washed and waxed. He never resists and bites down the pain.

He’s already pushing his mind to the back of his head as the cleaning starts. They wash the stained blood dried up on his skin, they wash his greasy hair and his dirty feet. Every dirty inch of him is completely scrubbed down, and especially the crotch and the bum. Because ultimately, that’s the only important parts of his body. The maids hum and they murmur quietly to themselves and to each other as they wash him up and waxes him, and Louis listens silently, his eyes slipped shut as he enjoys these quiet, short moments of pleasure before he has to og out into the performance room. He’s just hoping for an easy night. 

They finish the cleaning within and hour(they always do with Louis because he’s so cooperative,) put a thin jumper on him that still hangs loosely over his shoulders even though it’s the smallest size, and then they send him on his way. The boys are usually not trusted to be walking alone in the halls without being supervised, but Louis’ been here for so long, he’s probably the most trusted out of all of them. He would never think of escaping. Not that he would know how to, either way. 

Louis doesn’t remember the time before this. It’s very distant, very faint in his memory, and he doesn’t know of anything else. This is home.

He rubs over his eyes while he carefully walks up the stairs, his hands gripping at the railing. He’s used to being so weak, and he doesn’t walk the stairs more than once a day, so. It’s fine. He likes the upstairs better because it’s not underground and the air is so much fresher, he doesn’t have coughing fits to the point where he nearly hacks a lung out every time he breathes too deeply. 

Once he’s upstairs, he goes through a steel door and he turns down another turn and goes down the slightly nicer hallway, with red floors and wooden doors. He wonders if this place has maybe been a hotel before. He wonders if it has had days without pain and screaming and death. Maybe it’s been a pleasurable place to be at one point in time. 

He goes down the hallway before he carefully opens the door to the performance room, where the different men and women get a boy of their liking. When he steps inside, there are four others boys lined up; Two of which he knows. He knows Niall and he knows Josh, but the other two are unfamiliar. Niall is one of the ones who came when Louis did; They were just kids, children who stuck together and comforted and cried to each other after sessions. But that was years ago, probably. Maybe. Louis has lost track of time. A soft sigh leaves his lips while he goes over to the other boys to line up next to Niall, and when he feels Niall’s hand reach out to squeeze his own, he relaxes. Sometimes, he wonders where everybody else goes. He’s watched eight, maybe nine boys just collapse and die on the floor in the time that he’s been here, usually young and new ones who aren’t used to this, and a lot more of people who have just disappeared. He’s watched a boy try to escape, watched him being beaten to his death, and ever since, nobody has ever tried escaping again. 

It never crosses Louis’ mind. Even if he’d made it outside, he doesn’t know what the outside is like. Inside these walls, he’s protected in a way. He is aware of rules and he is aware of how to act. He doesn’t know about the outside, other than the things he’s heard from the other boys. It sounds just as terrifying as it sounds lovely.

The performance room is a dark room with a spotlight pointed over at them, and usually a few couches set across for them. The customers will sit and they will ask Louis’ owner questions about the boys lined up, maybe even go and have a look, before they pick a boy of their choice. 

It takes a few moments before the customers arrive through the door on the other side, and Louis’ gaze immediately falls to the floor. Niall’s hand drops from his own, and he feels the tension in the room. He would love to look at every one of the different people, he’s quite curious really, but then again, he’s been taught to always keep his eyes down unless told otherwise. 

Louis has never done anything that he isn’t told to do. 

He listens as his owner begins to speak about them, about their age and what they’re good at and who’s the best one and the pricing. He’s heard it so many times that he could probably script it. He hears his name being called, and he steps forward, his hands clasping behind his back. He hears his owner talk about him, tells them he’s one of their best and that he’s eighteen, wich is a lie, he’s sixteen, but his owner tends to lie a lot. Depending on the customers, he’s sometimes portrayed as twelve or fourteen or even twenty, which would be quite unbelievable anyways because he’s absolutely tiny. 

He zones out as the man talks about the other boys, keeping his eyes on his feet and his hands behind his back. It’s a submissive posture, he’s been explained. He barely remembers more than the past week of his life. His memory is so terribly fogged up, and there are so many things he doesn’t want to remember. 

After what feels like only a moment, he’s chosen by a large, burly guy with a big mustache and hands the size of Louis’s face, probably. Louis has dealt with men like these before, and when Niall casts a glance over at Louis with sympathy and maybe a hint of worry as the man leads him out to take him into one of the private rooms for the night, Louis understands him. These may be some of the worst kinds of men. 

When Louis is returned back into his room at six in the morning, he passes out before he manages to get to his bed. 

This is his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments/kudos if you would want me to continue. x


End file.
